Scars
by Hekate101
Summary: He pushed away. “Leave.” “What?” “I said ‘leave.’” She was shocked. Sodding Gryffindor. She probably thought he cared.


Scars

By Hekate101

A/N: Written for a WIKTT songfic challenge. I think. It's been on my computer for a while, and so I figured I'd pull it out, brush the dust off, polish it up, and post it. Assume it's AU after..OotP, probably.

Disclaimer: Wht's mn s mn, wht sn't sn't. Wanna buy a vowel?

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He pushed away. "Leave."

"What?"

"I said '_leave_'."

She was shocked. Sodding Gryffindor. She probably thought he cared. _(But he had cared.)_ Yes, but no longer.

"Goodbye Hermione."

Did he think things would be better with her gone? They wouldn't be. Yesterday…yes, just yesterday, he had been running his finger along his wand, long and ebony, so powerful yet so simple, and he wondered what death was like. Why had he cheated it so many times? Certainly not as many as Potter, but more than any sane person would risk…he hadn't died then, oh no, he could not die by his own hand. Avada Kedavra might be quick, but he was proud. Proud of what, he didn't know, but he knew pride and that is what coursed through his veins and told him to put the wand down.

This _of course_ was harder that it should have been because he was holding it in his non-dominant hand and had to reach over half of his unresponsive body to place it on the tabletop. Of course, this idea was perfectly explainable, seeing as his right arm had been burnt from shoulder to fingers and broken on top of that. It currently lay limp and useless next to him.

Holding the brandy glass toward the light later, Severus wondered why he wasn't dead. Death seemed to be on his mind an awful lot recently, but wasn't it on everyone's? Voldemort… 'The Dark Lord' was dead. Finito. Bye bye. Hasta La Vista, Baby and all that. But Severus…Severus had no one to celebrate with. As if anyone could find him. He popped back the last of the liquor and winced a bit where it chafed his throat, still raw from the smoke inhalation.

Then the knock came. He had forced himself up, and limped to the door, even going so far as to leave his wand behind. If it were some of the last Death Eaters, here to kill the traitor, he would make it easy for them. It wasn't as if he cared.

But his death warrant came in a different form. No, Fate was going to get him back. He was going to be killed from within. She was standing there, dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a beige blouse, tears streaming down her face, just like before. When he had come out of hiding for her. Her _dear _friend had been killed and she was distraught. They picked up right where they had left off when he ended it in her seventh year. They did get to the bedroom this time, though. Those days…back when…were long and lazy and almost happy…

Oh, but did anything really matter to her? Of course not. If it weren't for her, he wouldn't have come out of hiding. And the aurors would not have arrested him "under suspicion of treason during time of war." He was granted one hearing and she didn't even bother to show. He had to be saved, _on his way to Stoquraw, a German prison, _no less, by Harry bloody Potter. Somewhere in the mess Voldemort was killed. Like he mattered any more at that point. So Severus had become a hermit once again. _  
_

_  
_Then…yesterday, only yesterday…Lucius was killed after a two-day battle, and the world celebrated once more. Truly the world was free…and she showed up. He had let her in for some…inexplicable reason. Maybe he was drunker than he'd thought. Maybe it was cold and raining, he didn't remember. Maybe…maybe he still loved her. And they had kissed. They had whispered nothings, sweet or otherwise, to each other and he…had woken to find a breakfast tray ready for him. Her presence in his little haven was obvious, and he wanted it gone. It was not so much simply the betrayal as the betrayal of the weakness, the absolute power that she held over his head like the late dark lord.

She needed help. Once more, she needed help. And here he was, with open arms. Hardly. He did not eat her breakfast. Instead, angry and hung-over, he moved toward the window seat where he knew she would be. All of his temporary homes had had one architectural similarity: that _blasted_ window seat. It made him comfortable to have one. But he didn't need her comfort. He didn't need her.

But she needed him; needed help again. Mental, this time, apparently. She had been crying tears of happiness when she showed up at his door. Because now_ they could finally be together_. Right.

She reached out to grasp hold of him.

He pushed away. "Leave."

"What?"

"I said, _leave_"

She took a step back. "But-"

"I have dreams _every night_, Hermione. They are _always_ bad. But last night- Last night I didn't dream at all." He leant in close, inhaling her aroma, cinnamon and lavender. "_And that's even worse._"

He handed her the knapsack she'd been carrying when she arrived. "Leave."

She left as she had come; with tears rolling down her face. She left him as he had been before she had arrived, alone with his scars.

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A/N; Yeah, it's an angsty one-shot. But it's SOMETHING, and that's a lot more than the past coughyearcough.


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